The middle of January and I didn’t have a freakingcoat. Figures.
I used to have a coat.
It had been a nice coat. Long and puffy and so warm. Now,in the middle of winter, in the middle of a job, I didn’t have one.
I wanted to punch something.
“Where’s your coat?” Gus asked as he hopped up on theretaining wall next to me.
My jaw quivered as I tried to fight the biting wind ina battle of wills. “Whichever whore my dad brought home last night ran off withit.”
“His taste in women has definitely declined over theyears,” Atticus consoled in that way of his that was not at all consoling.“Which is saying something since I thought your mom was about the dirtiestpiece of trash he could have drummed up.” Atticus smiled at Gus. “I mean, talkabout bottom of the barrel.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Francesca growled. She wasshivering too, but only because she barely weighed a hundred pounds. It didn’tmatter how bundled up she was, she needed more meat on her bones. “That’s anugly fucking thing to say.” She sashayed by him, reminding him that her ass wasabout the only non-boney part of her body. “Besides,” she taunted, “if we wantto talk about slutty mothers, yours is always top of the list.”
“Geez, Frankie,” Gus groaned. Atticus and Gus’s motherwas still very much married to their father. Much to all of our surprise, sinceshe hadn’t been faithful to her very dangerous husband in a long time. Iassumed every time Gus and Atticus went home they were surprised to see theirmother still there, still breathing.
It wasn’t that Ozzie was faithful in return. In fact,it was probably his lifetime of infidelity that had pushed her into the arms ofother men. But Oz wasderzhatelobschakato the most powerful Russian syndicate in DC.And she was just arm candy.
Aging arm candy.
Atticus’s expression flattened, turning into that coldserial killer psycho we all knew and loved. And then he turned that cruel glareon Frankie. “It’s not a good idea to talk about my mother.”
She didn’t flinch. “So talk some shit about my mother.Get me back. I dare you.”
Atticus turned away, knowing he couldn’t say a damnthing to Frankie. Let alone, her deceased mother, the favorite sister of ourbosses. “I don’t know why you’re here anyway, princess. You don’t belong withus.”
“Who’s us?” Gus asked. “The working class?”
Atticus pushed off the retaining wall and walked away.Throwing an, “Exactly,” over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong with him today?” I asked needlessly.
Neither Gus nor Frankie answered. Something was alwayswrong with him. He was always pissed about something. Or everything.
Lately, though, I had an idea of what it was. He hadit bad for the pretty, untouchable, angry-at-the-world princess. And she’d justinsulted his mother.
Sayer crossed the street, headed in our direction. Hislong legs ate up the distance with purpose and speed, making the rest of theworld appear in slow motion. He had his hands thrust into his pockets and aplaid scarf tucked around his neck.
I lost my breath watching him move toward us. I hadnever seen anyone more breathtaking than Sayer. He couldn’t be human. I refusedto believe he was a mere mortal.
And in the five years I had known him, he had donenothing but prove me right.
Fallen angel. That was my current theory.
He walked right up to me, stepping between my legs andrubbing his hands over my biceps. I sank into his warmth, needing as much of itas I could get. “Where’s your coat?” he demanded in a much firmer, morepossessive way than Gus had.
With him this close, smelling like cigarette smoke andspearmint and this new soap he’d started using, I lost the ability to formcoherent sentences. That or my brain had gotten frostbite. “Uh…”
“Her dad’s lucky lady of the night ran off with it,”Gus explained for me.
Sayer frowned, his freakishly blue eyes darkening withconcern. His hands moved over my neck and up to cradle my face. I loved the wayhis callouses scratched against my jawline and the way his fingertipsdisappeared into my hair. “You going to buy a new one?”
“O-of course.” I licked dry lips and wished I had thecourage to tell him to get on with it. Despite how much I loved his attention,I really was freezing.
“Tell him the truth, Caro,” Frankie demanded.
I bit back a growl, hating how much I’d told her onthe subway. “There’s nothing to tell him, Frankie. I got it covered.”
